Fun at the Pub

We met some friends for trivia night at a local Irish pub this evening. Well, we talked about doing the trivia contest, but when we arrived the weather was too nice to go inside and so we dined out front, chatting and people watching, until the skies opened and a torrential rain forced us inside to pay our bill.

The wait staff was apologetic, seating us at an open table so that Stephen could finish his tea. Marty seized the opportunity and went off to gather the proper trivia supplies. It was the beginning of round three, and we were game. In addition to the questions that our spirited host posed to the assembled patrons, there was a visual round as well, a page of photos that we passed around the table.

The noise in the pub was a bit loud, though, and the questions did not come as quickly as we may have liked, and so it was around question six that we agreed to pack it in at the end of the round. "What three word phrase popularized by migrant worker advocate Cesar Chavez became the slogan of Barack Obama's 2008 presidential campaign?"

"Yes we can!" shouted a guy at the end of the bar.

"Really?" asked the announcer. "How about shut the fuck up asshole? Oh, wait! That's too many words. No one's going to get any points for that one, because you are such a douche, man!"

I started giggling at the first sign of confrontation. What can I say? It's funny when people don't follow the rules and then get in trouble for it. Well, it's funny when you're not the one whose job it is to get people to follow the rules. For the record? I would not have used that method to redirect a wayward participant.

At the end of the round, Marty, our 74-year-old, gray-haired, ex-teacher, mother of four, grandmother of seven, friend, took our answer sheet up to the guy at the mic. "Sorry for the rough language, ma'am," he said.

"Thanks," she told him, "but, it's not the worst I've ever heard."

We All Scream

One of the amenities that we have been offering to our guests this summer is the opportunity to design their own ice cream flavors. Regular readers may recall the s'mores, Earl Gray, and Thai cucumber flavors we tried last month. Before that, it was a vegan chocolate gelato, a coconut mango, and good old vanilla custard with add-ins.

I love it when visitors rise to the challenge, and this weekend the girls had some interesting requests. Allyn wanted root beer, and Delaney requested peanut butter cup. The pb and chocolate was a huge hit, but the root beer was too sweet and it lacked something to take the place of the fizz. 

Don't worry-- it wasn't disappointing enough to keep people from eating it, and fortunately, the micro-batches I've been making leave plenty of chance for improvement, so I would be happy to try that one again.

As much fun as it is to make all that ice cream, the drawback is that I don't really want to eat it. I like a taste, but more than a couple of spoonfuls is way too much for me. I think I have it figured out though: I've ordered some cartons so that I can start packaging up these creations to go.

And so it Begins

25 pounds of tomatoes from the farmers market are sitting in a box in the dining room.

Can 12 quarts of canned tomatoes be far behind?


UPDATE: 8/13/13:
Make that thirteen quarts!

Paparazzi

We took the girls to the pool in our complex this afternoon. It was pretty empty for a Saturday, but as we approached, the sound of kids splashing and playing carried over the fence. It turned out that our neighbor was celebrating her birthday, and the noise we heard was five almost seventh grade girls enjoying the party. I thought nothing of it until I put my stuff down and looked a couple of lounge chairs over. There was a former student staring at me with her mouth wide open. I guess she's not used to running into her teachers in their bathing suits. That makes two of us.

I played it cool, though, like it was no big thing, and after a brief conversation, I jumped in the pool. 

Was it my I imagination or did her fingers fly to her iPhone the minute I turned away? A few minutes later, the birthday girl sat down next to her. They whispered for a minute, then our cheeky neighbor called out to me. "Hey, Ms..." she paused because that's not what she calls me. 

"Tracey?" I suggested.

"Nuha and Esinam say, 'Hi!'," she finished, naming two other girls who were not present.

""Tell them I hope they're having a good summer," I said, and I flashed a big smile and waved before I swam off to play with the girls, because I'm pretty sure there were pictures, if not video, to go with that text.

Company!

Just home from seeing The Smurfs 2, we got One Direction blasting, and we're making beaded rings, lanyards, and friendship bracelets. There was a little ballet demo from drama camp earlier, too.

God daughters in the house, yo.

Most Sincere

We have been trying to cultivate ourselves a nice cucurbitaceae for going on four seasons now. This late winter, when I was starting my seeds, I found a couple of old ones in a packet labeled "Connecticut field pumpkin," and in that most optimistic of moments, I planted one of them in my little starter cells. Flash forward six months, and that seed has grown into a vine that has taken over all the free space in our garden plot. On it there are two promising specimens and a couple of smaller back ups.

I couldn't tell you exactly why, no doubt we could connect it to any number of childhood Halloween memories, but I will be thrilled, thrilled! I say, to pick a pumpkin from my own little patch.

Here it is today:

(Fingers crossed!)

Those Old White Guys

One of my best friends from high school lost her dad today. He was 90 and died peacefully at home with 2 of his five children by his side; not a bad way to go, right?

When I heard the news, I noted the date, because me and dates? We have something going. Just the other day, I ran into a couple of friencquaintences (yes! by all means give me credit for that portmanteau word) at Target, and I had the occasion  to impress them with my knowledge of their birthdays. I wish I could take more credit for it, but (shrug) it's just how my brain works.

So, today, I thought of Nixon resigning. It was August 8, 1974, (Bobby Bloomer's birthday), and we had been to Great Adventure theme park with my aunt and cousins. That hot, sweaty night, with all the window fans blowing, we watched on TV as the president made a speech from the oval office that he would resign the next day. It was history.

How old was my friend's dad then? I wondered, and I calculated that he was 51, my age exactly. He was a fortunate man, and I personally wouldn't turn down another 39 years like those, but then I got to thinking. How old was Nixon then?

The answer-- 61. Just 10 years older than I am now. Hmm. So he was... 55 when he was elected. That seems impossible. How could that be? NIXON was only 4 years older than I am when he ran for president? But wait. The first time he ran, when he was that stodgy alternative to the young and vibrant JFK? He was just 47!

So, I did a bit of research into all those old, white guys who have led our nation. (Thank you, Wikipedia.) The median age is actually a youthful 54 and 11 months, which falls between Herbert Hoover and Lyndon Johnson. (Really? Really!) Seriously... Tyler, Fillmore, Grant, Garfield, Arthur, Cleveland, BOTH Roosevelts (FDR? C'mon!), Cleveland, Kennedy, Clinton, and Obama were all my age, or YOUNGER!, when elected president.

Gasp.

You know how politics are these days. I'm already following "Ready for Hillary" on Twitter, and I am ready for her-- mostly because she's a woman, but also because she will kick that median age up a notch.